


Improv

by ProblematicPines



Category: Gravity Falls, Reverse Falls - Fandom
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Reverse Falls, Bullying, Cruelty, Gen, Gleeful Triplets, Personal take on popular AU, Reverse Pines, Sibling Abuse, Sibling Rivalry, Triplets, paranormal elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-16 06:05:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17544137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProblematicPines/pseuds/ProblematicPines
Summary: Once again, their night had been a resounding success. A few magic tricks, a few premonitions (that could have been falsified, could have been genuine), and the crowd had gone rabid. It was pretty much the same as any other show, though this one seemed a little....lackluster. Of course, the crowd had shown an overwhelming (even annoying) amount of support for the three youths, though their enthusiasm for the same card tricks and apparent telekinesis had dwindled a little.The Gleeful Triplets’ act was getting stale, and it was showing, little by little.





	Improv

The deafening shriek of the applauding audience rang throughout the Tent of Telepathy, filling the cool night air and making the ears of those listening reverberate with the shrill sound. Roses were thrown at the stage, and landed in red and white heaps at the feet of the three entertainers simultaneously waving and bowing at the dedicated crowd. All three bore grateful smiles that boasted confidence and joy, and their eyes (an icy, impossible shade of blue that seemed to have stars twinkling in their glittering depths) surveyed the audience as they hollered their names.

“We love you!”  
“Gleeful! Gleeful! Gleeful!”  
“Sign my face!”

The Gleeful Triplets merely bowed gracefully as the audience began to herd out in a chattering, excited mass. Some tried lingering behind the throng of fans, trying to stay in their radiance for a little longer, but were soon gone with the others.  
As soon as the Tent was void of audience members, leaving behind an empty room with scattered chairs and crumpled up advertisement flyers, the Triplets left the stage, disgruntled and grumbling to themselves. Their smiles, seemingly genuine and gleeful (pun intended), fell away, leaving behind malicious scowls and an icy fire in their eyes.  
Uncaring of the public’s perception now that they were all by their lonesome, the three of them departed. One of the two boys snapped his pale fingers, and a blue aura materialized for a moment, much like when he had transformed playing cards into snow-white doves earlier that evening.  
The abrupt sound rang throughout the sudden silence.

By his command, the super troupers around the stage switched off with a resounding CLUNK, and the room plunged into a semi-darkness that failed to hide the ghostly sheen in the Triplets’ eyes, which shone in the gloom like will-o-the-wisps.

Once again, their night had been a resounding success. A few magic tricks, a few premonitions (that could have been falsified, could have been genuine), and the crowd had gone rabid. It was pretty much the same as any other show, though this one seemed a little....lackluster. Of course, the crowd had shown an overwhelming (even annoying) amount of support for the three youths, though their enthusiasm for the same card tricks and apparent telekinesis had dwindled a little.

The Gleeful Triplets’ act was getting stale, and it was showing, little by little.

“That was anticlimactic,” remarked Mason Gleeful disapprovingly, a skinny boy with a curious birthmark on his forehead. He unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves while he walked, radiating a sense of superiority and disdain.

“I blame Tyrone,” retorted Mabel Gleeful with an accusatory tone. She flipped her long, white-streaked hair, her bejeweled hair-band catching the light and flaring an intense and shimmering blue, much like her cruel-cutting eyes.

“Well, I wouldn’t have been so mellow had you two stuck to the routine,” rasped Mason Gleeful from the back of the group. He glared daggers into the backs of their heads, feeling his contempt for them growing by the second.

The Gleeful Triplets came to a stop once they entered their dressing room, and stared one another down; three pairs of icy-blue eyes, identical in colour and distinctive glow, flashed with the same ugly disdain of their fellow siblings. They were mostly identical, from their porcelain-white skin to their equally-white hair, to their glittering amulets.  
Despite being only sixteen years old, they all possessed wisdom and power far beyond their years. Their elderly-white hair only added to this.

“Well, tomorrow night is going to be exactly the same,” Mabel spat, smoothing out the creases in her tight-fitting blue blazer. “So I suggest we all put our squabbles behind us and rehearse so that it doesn’t happen again.”  
Mason rolled his eyes.  
“It wasn’t my fault,” he hissed. He glared at Tyrone, who was already heading over to his own vanity mirror, complete with glaring light bulbs that emitted a ghostly white light. “It was that idiot’s - he wanted to try and impress the audience by going off-script.”

“Which was NOT in our rehearsal,” Mabel agreed, beginning to comb through her locks with a black comb. She wasn’t even trying to hide the mirth on her tongue, and Tyrone wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of getting a reaction out of him. So instead, he remained sitting at his table, using his mirror to remove the hues of blue eyeshadow from his eyelids.  
He had given in to his twin sister’s accusations too many times before, and each time resulted in Mabel and Mason ganging up on him and sporting shit-eating grins while doing so. He had learned from his past mistakes, which was why he knew to bite his tongue and not insult them to the point of crying.

Mabel glowered, her nose wrinkling.  
“Fine,” she grumbled. “Be a bitch.”  
Still nothing.  
Mason sighed, tapping his foot impatiently. “Say something, Tyrone,” he said, his tone containing a frustrated edge. “You’re being childish.”  
“It’s called maturity,” Tyrone wanted to snap back, but he took a deep inhale and focused on his makeup removal.

It was so strange: as soon as they were out of the public’s eye, they were no longer the pleasant triplets that laughed, joked and performed on stage on near-perfect synchronicity.  
They no longer held hands and heartily laughed at themselves and the audience.  
No - as soon as the cameras were diverted from them and the Tent of Telepathy was devoid of the meaningless, numb-minded citizens of Gravity Falls, they were at each other’s throats, clawing and snarling at one another like crazed animals.  
It was the most surreal thing - and in a town such as Gravity Falls, that was certainly saying something.

One would expect siblings to get along, especially ones that were born at the same time, yet that certainly wasn’t the case. Mason, Mabel and Tyrone were the furthest things from civil one could expect whenever they were given a moment alone together. It wasn’t uncommon for one to lash out at another for screwing up a routine they had rehearsed dozens of times before, or for one to shriek insults and curses if one said something out-of-line, regardless of said thing being uttered in public or not.  
Bruises would appear on their porcelain-white skin, dark and ugly, blemishing their impossible perfection, but they were smart enough to be marked in places where their glamorous outfits covered their cold flesh.

And not all of their altercations were with their voices or fists.

Speaking of which, Mason was beginning to feel the black urge invading his mind. Inky and menacing and all-consuming, his pale hand flew to the round, sparkling blue Gem embedded in his boutonniere. He gripped it with an almost animalistic ferocity, and he felt the chilling power rush through him.  
A shimmering blue aura surrounded his clenched fist, and the dressing room reverberated with the thrum of the power emitting from the jewel.

“TYRONE, STOP BEING A CHILD AND ANSWER US.”

Tyrone, who was still refusing to acknowledge his siblings, had no choice but to acknowledge them when the chair he was sitting in was picked up by an invisible, untouchable force. With him still sitting in it, accustomed to the sudden use of telekinesis that usually accompanied shows that were less than stellar by their standards, the chair was carried across the room, enveloped in the same unearthly blue aura that Mason’s fist was.  
The chair was set back down between Mason and Mabel (the latter of which was still absent-mindedly combing her hair, a faint smirk on her lips), and Tyrone begrudgingly met the eyes of his brother and sister.

He was the youngest of the three of them. Due to the minute difference in their ages, Tyrone was certainly at their beck-and-call. Sure, he was the lead during their shows, but the world the audience saw and the world they inhabited beyond the stage had a difference as huge as the one between Heaven and Hell.  
Beyond the stage, Tyrone really was just a spare part to Mason and Mabel. The outcast, the simpleton, the one Gleeful Triplet that was only there out of pure circumstance: he he not been born a triplet and a mere sibling, older or younger, then he would have been kicked out of their show immediately and reduced to a scavenger on the streets.

“What do you expect me to say?” Tyrone asked, half-genuinely. “You said so yourselves: I’m the lead, so if I desire to go off-script for the sake of the audience’s entertainment then I so shall.” He started to file his nails, refusing to meet their gazes any longer. “It’s called improv.”  
Mabel gave a disgusted grunt. Aghast, she spun round in her chair to face him, her eyes full of malice.  
“We know what it’s called, shit-for-brains!” she snapped, unreasonably agitated. “What we want to know is why you jeopardized the whole act just so you could have a little more attention.”

“You didn’t even tell us beforehand,” Mason agreed, always Mabel’s echo. “If it had not been for the intermission then we would have been hopeless out there.”  
“Good thing the intermission was then, wasn’t it?” Tyrone said sarcastically.

To be fair, the whole reason Tyrone improvised his segment of the show that night was purely to disorientate his elder twins. Mason and Mabel thrived off being able to control aspects of their lives; they desired structure and understanding. His intervention threw a spanner in the works, and even though it was something as small as not following their routine, it was enough to cause them dismay.  
They caused him to feel way worse, anyway. It was only fair that they felt how he did, if only for a few minutes.  
Tyrone knew that he would have been punished severely for stepping out of line and potentially ruining the whole night (which would have been so so satisfying), but knowing he had one small victory over these two psychopaths was enough for him.

Mabel’s hand struck his face before he saw it coming; to Hell with concealing his bruises. With his porcelain-white cheek blooming an angry, raw red, contrasting his cold blue eyes, Tyrone looked back at them, unwilling to even cry out and give them a shred of satisfaction in hearing his pain.  
“Don’t think you’re getting off that easy, you worm,” Mabel growled, tossing her comb onto her dresser with a resounding clatter. She cracked her knuckles. “You made a fool out of us. Nobody gets to do that to the Gleeful Twins.”  
“You’re no brother of ours,” Mason snarled, every word dripping with a hissing, steaming venom that burned holes in Tyrone’s heart. With a wave of his hand, Tyrone was swept out of his seat, and the chair crashed to the floor.

“Pathetic,” Mabel hissed, tone dark and tinged with absolute disgust. Tyrone was crumpled up on the floor, clutching his stomach, winded from where he had hit the cold floor. He tried to stand, but with another wave of his hand, Mason forced him back down. It was like an invisible weight had been placed on top of him, pinning him against the floor. Tyrone would have reached for his Gemstone, which was located on his lapel, but he couldn’t even move his hands. He was like a doll to the Gleefuls, powerless and unable to move unless they desired him to.

“He’s not even trying to fight back.”  
“It’s not like he can.”  
“How worthless.”  
“How so.”  
“How should we punish him?”  
“Beating?”  
“Burning?”  
“Starvation?”  
“Paralysis?”  
“Public humiliation?”  
“I’ve got it!”

From where he was sprawled on the floor, Tyrone could see the light bulbs of Mabel’s dresser behind her head, and it almost looked like a cartoonish representation of an idea appearing over her head. Before he could question whatever unforgiving punishment she had in store for him, she enacted it.  
Mabel closed her fist around the Gemstone embedded in her hair-band, and the familiar blue aura appeared, engulfing her and filling the room with its unearthly, blood-chilling light. A wicked grin on her face, she raised her free hand, palm up, and upon doing so, Tyrone felt himself leave the floor, and was levitating high above the ground. He dangled there like a rag doll for a few seconds, his arms and legs swinging slightly, unable to actually move. He couldn’t even speak - his mouth was sealed shut by his sister’s unholy power.

“Say, Mason,” Mabel said, her face twisting into a cruel grin.  
“Yes, sister Mabel?” Mason leered.  
“We three are supposed to be triplets, yes?”  
“That is the case.”  
“But since we’re the Gleeful Twins, that means there can only be two of us.”  
“That is true.”  
“And if there’s only two of us, then only two of us can be identical, yes?”  
“That would make sense. How do you hope to solve the issue?”  
“By making the spare unrecognisable.”

Tyrone felt the aura around him release him, and the floor rushed up to meet him. His face smacked against the cold floor with a blinding flare of pain, and right before unconsciousness claimed him, Tyrone heard the shrill, cruel, heart-cutting laughter of his siblings fill the dressing room.  
Then the darkness engulfed him, which was both a blessing and a curse. It allowed him to get away from their taunts and their cruelty, yes - but what would they do to him while he was unconscious?

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first Reverse Falls Fic! I really wanted to do something different to what other writers do for this AU, so I decided to go with an idea barely anybody has done: the Gleeful Triplets!  
> Tyrone is pretty much a non-character in works for this series, so I decided to do him justice by making him part of their act!  
> This Fic focuses on the mob mentality Mason and Mabel have against their younger sibling: they see themselves as better than him due to their strength and magic manipulation being far higher than Tyrone's, and so treat him like a pet. Of course, as soon as Will Cipher becomes part of the act, then they turn their hatred towards him instead, but for now, Tyrone has to deal with their physical and emotional abuse.
> 
> If I ever write Reverse Falls in the future (which I most likely will, since the dynamic between the Gleefuls is such an interesting one with so many possibilities to explore), then I'm hoping to incorporate the Grunkles and Will. I'll also try and make Tyrone's life a little better, because he doesn't deserve the treatment he gets.
> 
> More Fics will be coming soon!  
> As always, comments and kudos are very much appreciated!


End file.
